Little Red Marks

I just read what I wrote yesterday.

I've been exceedingly angry to the point of furious only a few times in my life. When it does happen, I switch into autopilot and I don't really know what I'm doing. Except I know that when I do, it's going to be spiteful, it's going to be a spectacle and it's going to be extremely selfish. That's right, you better look at me when I'm seething in your direction.

Or not.

The first time was in high school. I was feeling awful that day. We were seniors. Waiting to graduate. Sitting at rehearsal in the hall. Nobody wanted to be there. There was so much chatter and noise. The girl down the hall was howling like a drunken, tortured cat.

So I exploded. Loud enough so that everyone in the building could hear for her to shut her mouth before she found my foot in it. Enough to blow out my vocal chords. And for a split second I was so proud of myself. The reaction was intense. People came running. People were watching. I felt powerful.

And then she laughed at me. She looked at my twisted face and her posse began to cackle. My desire to be heard is never balanced by my shaking, physical presence. So I took her box of graduation announcements that were sitting innocently by, stomped out the door and looked for the closest bonfire nearby I could through them in. I don't remember much after that.

But, just as quickly it was over. That was all I had in me. I snapped back to me. Crawled into a dark corner. I'm not a fighter. I sat in the hall drifting in and out of accusations, something about me being a racist, something about being a prick, and cried until there was nothing left to come out.

Yesterday I began to feel that same kind of wrath, just a different venue. What was I angry at?

Words. Plain and simple. Curse the written word. I wish I could tell you about it. But it's not fair to right now. So I lashed at every thing in the way I could think of. You won't really find the cause of my discomfort in the words that appear there.

However, to that end, I think there is truth. I do think I'm somewhat changed from how I used to be. Before it would take me weeks, months, maybe even years as I dwell in a funk when things go awry. Today, I'm not feeling... sorry for the things I said. I'm not sad. Maybe I'm a grown up after all.

Don't get the wrong idea, I still don't think that I want to date. I've no desire to. As a friend recently advised though, I'll be sure to wipe the poison off before I kiss again.

And old, crusty men should still beware.

Peace,
Simon

I Make Girls Cry

I once wrote a note on my door in college that read something to the effect of "Yes, I am in here. Don't waste your time. Please go away."

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For the moment, I've figured out some things.

I've determined that I possess a strong, unexplainable force that I am coining as anti-gaydar. It is a two-fold technique that allows one to crush on extremely unavailable straight men from afar while simultaneously repelling anyone who might be interesting and fabulous. As all you gay boys tend to think you are. But often fail miserably at.

I've determined that I don't want to date. I have no patience for any of you who wish to "date". I know this not because I have any experience in dating but because I cannot read your mind and I expect you to tell me things. I have no need for frivolous or facetious remarks. I'm not smart enough to read signals so don't even try. Don't slip your snark or your sarcasm into me. I will bite it off at the shaft and leave you with a bloody stump.

I've determined that there's a reason people hang out with others their age. The only people, who ever approach me are the loud, witless and old. Late 40's up. Way up. I'd say, no offense to those of you that are but I probably don't mean it. Let me be perfectly clear to all you skanky, old beach dwellers with "zest for life" that smell like hemorrhoid products and saltwater that I will take your cocks and fry them to a shriveled crisp under a magnifying glass in the sun to match the rest of you if you hit on me. I don't like you because I expect to end up like you later in life. I'm not a toy.

I've determined that I drown myself in work so I don't have to say I'm available to do "fun" things. I've determined that this course will bring me to a lonely life and hopefully a heart attack at 30. I'm not husband material. I am father to more people than just my own children and I don't have time for your contemptuous feelings of "love". And your point is?

I've determined that I don't have a sex drive. It disappeared. Like a magic trick gone wrong. I've also determined that I don't care. But there are others who can uphold the veracity of that claim if you know who to ask.

I've determined that I want to fight. I want to use my fists and throw a punch with enough strength to break skulls. I've determined that this is a big lie and that I will keep my kids from doing the same thing.

I've determined that I'm impatient, soulless, asexual, whatever... So until further notice, I give up on the whole social life interaction thing. It doesn't work for me. In the meantime, I am refocusing my few remaining energy cells on other things to do. Not better things, just things I dont have to think about so much.

I like you and I'll gladly as helpful as I can but I don't want to be your friend.

-----

I've determined that I am changed. From a small pile of rubbish lying under the covers in my room who swallowed a bottle of something waiting to die. Instead I am a furnace not be touched. Garbage can heat an entire house in the winter when it's decomposing. I'll give you a smile and a friendly face but the note on my door would now say "Bring it on. I dare you. I'll destroy you."

For the moment.

Kisses and Poison,
Simon

Secret Simon Podcast #007

Zoom zoom. Bang crash boom.

SecretSimon007.mp3
RUN TIME - 13:02
SIZE - 3.2 MB

Peace,
Simon

Love Letter

Dearest,

I know we've been separated by recent circumstances. I know our relationship was very superficial at its best. Forces were pulling us apart and I decided to end it when I did out of necessity.

But you see, I've been yearning for you lately. I remember the good times we had back then, the late nights, as I explored you and discovered what you had to offer. You were smooth and fast but I didn't mind. After all who wants the piss-water down here once you've tasted nectar from Olympus.

The one who I've found on the rebound to fill your place, has all the abilities you did but it's as graceful as humping a sloth. The type that kindly brings me my mail, but won't let me send anything out of jealousy. Rudely interrupting my conversations with friends so many times that I can't even count. I won't even go into the teasing with promises of movies and music that end in frustration.

But I put out nonetheless because I don't really have to pay for it. You always were an expensive bitch.

I'm not really naive, I know how you work. I know you could care less and have moved on. You were only using me for my money anyway. You're really a cold, hard black widow that drops lovers like yesterday's elephant turds. You've many other lovers in the wings, and I am but an atom in that cosmos.

I miss you immensely and I want you back. I have been out and about, having a few flings here and there in those public places where I can get it. But none of them can come home with me. I want our time together. Alone under my own roof.

Oh Hi-Speed Internet, I miss you so. Come back to me, my love and free me of the curse of Dial-Up.

Your Slave,
Simon

SOmetImMes thEre are TOo Many WoRds

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